


Across Time and Space Oneshots

by morgay



Series: Across Time and Space [2]
Category: Diary of a Wimpy Kid Series - Jeff Kinney, The X-Files
Genre: Abuse, Across Time and Space (ATAS), Addiction, Alcohol, Alien Abduction, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Break Up, Bullies, Child Abuse, Crying, Depression, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Feelings, Gay Sex, Gore, Grief, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Loneliness, Loss of Parent(s), Loss of Sibling(s), M/M, Mulder Torture, Nightmares, Physical Abuse, Post Break Up, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sadness, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Social Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Trauma, Violence, Whump, drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 23:10:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19029865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgay/pseuds/morgay
Summary: A collection of Across Time and Space oneshots, mostly just highlighting the horrible events that took place in Mulder’s life.This whole book is a trigger warning.





	1. White Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder sees Colin, Scully's boyfriend, flirting with and advancing on some women at a party. To say the least, Mulder isn't happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set a little after Scully becomes Collin's (Colin's?) girlfriend. Mulder gets pissed and yeah, angst. Just some backstory as to how Collin is put in a wheelchair. (Also this was written in March 2017 so it isn't great)

Fox Mulder watched as Collin confidently walked over to a few women with drinks, leaning against the railing as he most likely flirted with them, wrapping his arm around one of the women's waists and tugging her closer. The brown-haired man clenched his fists, feeling anger spin in his chest like a fireball.

Mulder was basically seething. He jumped out of his car and slammed the door shut, stomping over to Collin. He grabbed the blonde man by the collar of his shirt and pulled him back, leading the surprised -- and thrashing -- man to a nearby alley. Mulder hissed and kicked Collin in the leg, watching the smaller man crumple to the ground.

"You fucking bastard," the brown-haired man spat through clenched teeth, his shoe meeting Collin's rib. "I can't believe you!"

Collin just laughed, staggering to his feet as he glared at Mulder. "Can't believe what? That I'm the one who has Dana and not you?" A sneer made its way across the blonde man, which made Mulder only want to reach out and collide his fist with Collin's face. "Come on, I'm not stupid. I can see it in your eyes. You love her." He circled Mulder like he was a piece of prey. "Your anger is understandable. But you should know that you'll never be able to have Dana. Especially not after I fuck her--"

Mulder felt like everything was a blur. He whirled around and punched Collin hard in the jaw, causing the man to cup his face as he fell over. "Don't you ever talk about that. You know nothing about our relationship!"

"You're a pretty good guard dog, Fox," Collin snorted, struggling to stand. The FBI Agent sent his fist into the other man's gut and threw him to the ground, leaning over him and taking all of his anger out with punches and kicks. Collin spat blood out but didn't fight back. Mulder didn't notice; he could hardly comprehend what he was even doing. He was completely out of control of his body.

He finally stopped and drew back, watching Collin lying in a pool of his own blood. Oh, shit. What.. did I do? He looked down at his bruised fists that were covered in crimson-red liquid.

Mulder's head shot up when Collin murmured something. He furrowed his brows and crouched down. "What?" he growled, anger again growing inside of him.

"When... D..ana.. finds me... like this... I'm gonna tell her what you did.." He laughed, then stopped as he coughed on blood. "S..she's going t..to hate you. Be afraid... of you. Good job.. Fox... you fucked up bad."

Mulder's breathing hitched. His heart fell to his stomach as he stumbled to his feet, panic ripping through his whole body, the brown-haired man realizing what he'd done. He nearly fell to the ground as he ran back to his car, shutting the door and peeling off. He made his way back to his apartment, tears beginning to flood down his cheeks. Oh, no. No no no no no. Scully... she'll never forgive me for what I did. She never will. I know it. She'll hate me.. and.. and... FUCK. She... she won't be scared of me, right? We've been through so much. She wouldn't.. she won't.. she..

Mulder began to sob as he parked his car in front of his apartment, entering the building and walking the stairs to get to his room. He unlocked the door and slammed it shut behind him, making his way to his couch and falling on top of it. His mind replayed the scene over and over, trying to understand why he'd done that. If he'd just controlled his anger.. everything would be okay..

I am losing control. And what if Scully sees that? She'll know.. and she'll leave me for him..

Damn it, Mulder. You really fucked it up this time, didn't you?

*****

Pounding on Mulder's door jerked him from sleep. He blinked a few times as he saw the darkness of his apartment. He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, screwing his eyes shut. Mulder didn't know what time it was. He didn't care. All he wanted to do was lay here and die.

"Mulder! Open the goddamn door!"

Mulder shot up when he recognized the voice. Scully. Shit!

He touched his knuckles and ripped his hand away, feeling pain shoot through them. Oh, shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. I should've left. Why did I stay here? I knew Scully would come eventually. How long have I been asleep? I don't even know what day it is.

Maybe if I don't come to the--

His front door clicked open before he could even finish his sentence. Dammit, Scully has a key! Why did I ever give that to her? I'm so stupid!

Realizing it was pointless to do anything, Mulder fell back on his back, covering his face with his beaten hands. "Damn it Mulder--" Scully's angry voice filled the room. "Are you here?"

Mulder heard footsteps near the living room, feeling a burning sensation in his throat. All he wanted to do was tell her. Tell her what he'd done, why he'd done it, what Colin had said.

But he wasn't going to.

No, he'd take the pain for her. He'd take all of her pain away if he could. And if Mulder needed to do it until he died, then that would be fine.

As long as Scully didn't get hurt because of him.

"Oh my god." Mulder flinched at her voice. He knew she was staring at him. He knew she'd seen his knuckles. He knew that she understood that Collins's words were true.

The brown-haired man didn't say anything. She swiftly moved forward, softly touching his hands. "Mulder." He didn't move. "Mulder, I need to fix your hands."

She pulled him up, but he only slumped back on his couch, resting his hands beside him. He opened his eyes as Scully gave him a look of sympathy. "I don't need your pity," he croaked, voice rough and gravelly.

"How long has it been since you've eaten? Or had a bottle of water? Or taken a shower?"

Mulder only shrugged. He didn't know. He wouldn't answer. He wouldn't talk. No, speaking again would ruin everything.

Scully sighed and walked into the kitchen, Mulder hearing cluttering and watched as she came back with a first aid kit. She reached out his hands and examined them, beginning to work on them. Mulder was silent.

"Look..." she sighed, raising her blue eyes to meet Mulder's brown ones. "Collin... he told me what happened." Her eyes flashed with hurt. "Why would you do that? I know you always get violent when you're angry.. did he do something, Mulder? Say something to you?"

Mulder closed his eyes, his throat burning again. He shook his head, holding back tears. "I did... it... because I was angry." His voice broke and he choked on his words.

"Angry about what? And did you follow Collin?"

"I wanted to make sure h..he was good enough for you," the FBI Agent quickly responded.

"So you tried to beat him to death? Mulder, he's in a wheelchair. His ribs were broken. His face is going to be bruised for a long time. That's not just an 'I was angry' event. You were pissed. And I want you to tell me why."

"It's... it's none of your business," he growled back, inhaling as he forced back his sobs. If she wouldn't leave, then he'd have to act cut-off. Rude. Anything to get her to leave.. she couldn't find out. "So.. you should just leave."

Scully looked surprised at what he'd said, but her eyes immediately narrowed, dark ginger hair falling over her face. "I'm not leaving. Your knuckles need tending to, and you need to be watched over."

"I'm fucking fine! God Scully, do you not get the hint?" He ripped himself out of her grip and forced his eyes away from his partner's hurt and shocked face.

"You're not fine." Mulder could tell she was trying to stay cool and calm, collected like she always was. But her eyes betrayed her voice. He trained as a psychologist for a reason. "So tell me what's going on."

"Just.. leave."

"No."

"Scully, leave."

"I'm giving you the fucking chance to apologize for nearly killing Collin and you're acting like such an asshole!" She jumped to her feet, her mask gone. She was showing her true anger. "Can't you take anyone's help? Mulder, you're killing yourself because of what you do; you can't be alone all the time. You can't hold in all your emotions! You have to force yourself to talk to other people. Me, Mulder! I'm here for you! Are you too ignorant to see that?"

The brown-haired man flinched. She was right. He never took anyone's help. He always did things.. solo. How many times had he left her behind? How many times had he yelled at her? They'd gone through so much, and Mulder was always paranoid that maybe, maybe she was still against him. That maybe it was all an act. That had to be the only reason she was still here, right? Anyone else would have left him a long time ago.

But he would still do anything for her.

He'd take any kind of pain for her. Torture. He'd kill for her. He'd die for her, always pick her over himself. Truly, how much had she done for him? She'd done.. everything too.. maybe she wasn't against him. There was a possibility she wasn't.

God Mulder you're so fucking stupid! Of course she isn't against you! She's been there every step of the way; after Deep Throat's death, after her abduction and getting cancer, even after the FBI split you up when the X-Files was closed...

She had to love him.

Right?

He was too weak to do anything, though. To tell her how he felt. Mulder was truly terrified of rejection and therefor didn't do anything about it. But if he'd told her before.. maybe Collin wouldn't be in the picture.

It doesn't matter now.

"Mulder."

He looked up at Scully, nodding. "I know." His voice was barely a whisper. "I know what I am. I can't change. I've always felt alone, after Samantha's abduction.."

Scully frowned, coming to sit beside him. "You don't have to be alone. And... we've been over this Mulder. Remember when you lost your memory for that weekend? And the k-killer?" Mulder's throat dried up. "She wasn't abducted by aliens. There's too much evidence against that."

"Then why do I remember the light? Why do I remember her being taken out of the window? Why do I remember how much of a coward I was for not saving her in time?" Scully opened her mouth to respond but Mulder was quicker. "A-And my father! I couldn't save him either, could I? Krycek killed him right in the other room. I was fucking blamed for his death and everyone was okay with it!" Tears began to stream down his face. He was so broken, wasn't he? "And my mother... sh..." His voice broke as he let out a sob. "She called me before she killed herself. I-I could've talked to her. Understood what she was saying. But she took her life since I didn't take the time to pick up the fucking phone. Because I was too busy with other things. Because I was a coward."

He cried into his hands, not caring anymore. He wasn't embarrassed. He wasn't hiding it. Because he was showing how he felt. For once in his life he was letting everything out.

Scully wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. Then something clicked in Mulder. He shook his head and pulled away, standing to his feet. His eyes were bloodshot-red as he turned to face her, feeling a new kind of pain in his body. Heartache. It weighed him down, hurt him so badly. He wanted to crumple to the ground and sink into the dirt. Be forgotten forever.

"Mulder--"

"Leave Scully." He held back more tears. "I just want to be alone."

"But--"

"Leave!" he snapped back, eyes full of sorrow and grief. Every terrible emotion he'd ever felt. "I didn't need you coming here anyway!"

Scully looked confused. And hurt. Mulder understood, he would've felt the same. And to his surprise, she listened. She nodded silently and placed the first aid kit back in his kitchen, casting him one last pained glance before she opened the door and left.

Mulder stood frozen for a few moments, wondering if all of that had really just happened. It had. He'd broken down in front of Scully. Broken down in front of Scully. What the fuck. Why. Why had he done that? Tears welled in his eyes as he sucked in a deep breath, staggering on the oxygen. He suddenly yelled and turned to punch the nearest wall, kicking the couch and anything around him. He kicked until his foot was numb. Hard sobs racked Mulder's body as he fell to the ground like the pathetic useless piece of garbage he was and just laid there. He didn't want to move. He'd just fall back into his self-pity mode and have those same thoughts of suicide. I mean, truly, everyone he cared about was dead or gone. His whole family was deceased, so were all his friends, like Deep Throat and Mr. X, Scully had Collin, and Skinner didn't even notice him anymore.

He was alone. Completely, and he knew he always would be, just because of who he was and how he acted with other people.

A sigh slipped from his lips.

He could do it now. Just put the gun to his head and pull the trigger. But something held him back. Was it Scully? Skinner? Or was it to seek the truth of aliens and their connection to the government? To seek the truth of everything he'd ever seen?

Maybe it was that. But he would not kill himself. No, not yet. Not until he was finished seeking everything he'd spent his life trying to find. He would continue on, no matter how shitty his life was or became. 

At least that's what he hoped.


	2. Silver Bullets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder attempts suicide while dwelling on the thoughts of his past, present, and future.

It was a dark, dark night. No stars twinkled in the sky, a soft sheet of clouds covering any light emitting from the moon. No locusts or grasshoppers made their noise, hardly a wind to rustle the tree branches. It was cold and bitter outside, unwelcoming and unpleasant.

Mulder stared down at the street from his apartment window. He didn't know what time it was. The FBI Agent stood emotionless, his hands fallen down by his sides. His hazel eyes were glossy and dark bags were visible underneath, his hair shaggy and unkept. The male let out a pitiful sigh, feeling his heart weigh down in his chest.

He turned and walked into his living room. Mulder sat on the couch, turned the TV on and stared at a blank screen for a long time. Hours, maybe. By the time he actually bothered to look at the clock it was 4:25 in the morning. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. Mulder wanted to sleep forever but he didn't let himself. He wanted torture. To at least feel something, instead of this buzzing nothingness that swallowed his mind every day and every night. He couldn't even work a case.

Mulder knew why this was. After beating the shit out of Collin the FBI Agent had felt horrible. The guilt ate away at his insides, tearing him apart and ripping open his heart. He'd fallen. He was defeated. Every inch of faith the hazel-eyed man had somehow kept inside was completely shadowed by every other terrible emotion at the moment.

His shoulders slumped. His gaze trailed to the floor. He was so empty. Mulder honestly didn't know the last time he'd been to work. The FBI Agent had been so depressed lately he never even had the energy to get out of bed. And Scully never came to check on him anymore so he was alone. Skinner was the head of the whole fucking FBI so why should he take time out of his already busy-as-shit day to come baby Mulder? He didn't know why he counted on them anymore. They had better things to do than worry about some sad dude that never came to work.

Mulder sucked in oxygen, his breath shaking. He was physically trembling, his mind screaming KILL YOURSELF NO ONE LIKES YOU NO ONE LOVES YOU ALL OF YOUR FAMILY IS DEAD YOU'RE JUST A JOKE TO OTHER PEOPLE ALL YOU DO IS SIT AROUND ALL DAY AND ACT SELFISH AND STUPID BECAUSE OF PETTY JEALOUSY DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE

Mulder began to cry. He buried his face in his hands, sobs racking his body as the thoughts shook his brain to the core like a rumbling train on broken tracks. He wanted to die. Mulder had always told himself that he would never commit suicide because he had something to live for but now? Everyone he loved was dead or gone. His sister, his father, his mother, Diana, Scully, Skinner... and aliens and UFOs? Was he serious? That wasn't something to live for. Mulder was a pathetic excuse for an FBI Agent. He was surprised no one in the bureau had put a sniper on him already. Why cause trouble with the government if no one listened? His point on earth was invalid now, and he really just wanted the pain to end.

This wasn't a "permanent solution to a temporary problem." This was a "temporary solution to a permanent problem." Who knows, maybe he'd get reincarnated into a jaguar or some shit. Wouldn't that be awesome. Much better than living like this for the rest of his life (which he knew he would). Forty or fifty more years of torture didn't seem very appealing. He'd rather get it over with now than wait out his inevitable death for the rest of his life.

Mulder did wonder. He looked down at the table in front of the couch, the television screen illuminating the objects on there. A bottle of beer, a packet of cigarettes (plus three empty ones), and his gun in his holster. It felt like a stone was weighing him down in his stomach as the FBI Agent reached forward, letting the weapon slide into his hands. Mulder examined it for a while, running his fingers over the edges and wondering, Is this right to do? But it seemed so right. No one would really even notice, anyway. Good riddance.

Mulder tilted it and opened his mouth. The gun felt cold and metallic against his tongue, pointed in an upward direction toward his brain. He could hardly even hold the damn thing straight he was shaking so badly. His shattered heart pumped heavily in his chest, ringing in his ears and clouding everything he'd just been thinking. The panic nearly sent him off the edge, Mulder wondering if it would be better to just throw himself out of the window. No, that wouldn't work, it would only break his bones. Shooting himself was really the only thing he could do, and hanging himself wasn't too appealing either. So it had to be this.

Beads of sweet dripped from his forehead. Tears were still evident in his hazel eyes, running down his face. He was about to kill himself. Mulder was about to kill himself. The one thing he'd always told himself he wasn't going to do he was going to do. That's what scared him the most. He was losing himself and everything he had once been. Without Scully here to guide him, there was no purpose on this earth for him.

KILL YOURSELF

He didn't want to.

YOU HAVE NO REASON TO LIVE

What if Samantha was still alive?

NO ONE LOVES YOU

Scully loved him.

YOU'RE JUST AN ANNOYANCE TO EVERYONE.

That got him. His throat dried up, more tears specking his eyes. Mulder's lip trembled as his finger curled around the trigger, his mind screaming DO IT DO IT DO IT but his heart yelling NO STOP IT THIS IS HORRIBLE AND SELFISH

Mulder pulled the trigger.

His eyes were screwed shut, the man imagining the pain hitting him like a rocket. He wondered what would happen if this shot didn't kill him. He'd probably never be able to work or even think straight again. So this had to be right. This had to be the bullet that killed him.

This wasn't the bullet that killed him. In fact, there was no bullet that was going to kill him.

His gun was empty.

Mulder's eyes reopened and he found himself in the same spot he'd been most of the night. He was still facing the television, the gun lodged inside his mouth. Tears began to run fresh down his cheeks as he slid the weapon away from his jaws, choking out a sob. He checked if it was loaded and it fucking wasn't loaded. No bullets or anything. Just his luck. 

The brown-haired man didn't cry after that. He set the gun down, turned the television off and laid back down in bed. Mulder didn't bother checking the time, it simply didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. The depression was so bad Mulder hardly felt anything at this point. The endless void in his head was like an empty universe now.

He wondered if God had saved him. Mulder didn't usually believe in that sort of stuff—he definitely wasn't religious or part of a religion—but this was odd. These weird instances had happened several times during his lifetime but he'd just pushed them into the corner of coincidences. In his line of work, nothing was a coincidence. So why was he saying it was? Was he just too afraid to believe, like Scully? That really made him think that night.

Maybe it had been God. Maybe it had been nothing but a coincidence. At this point he didn't care. Mulder wasn't grateful or angry he was alive. He was just empty, nothingness swallowing him whole again. His hazel eyes fluttered shut, his trembling ceasing and his heart beat eventually calming down. The FBI Agent let out one more small sigh before the darkness of sleep overcame him. And this time, Mulder let it sink in.


	3. Alone For Eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder tries to drink away his guilt after breaking up with Rodrick and after Diana leaves him once again. It doesn't work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda shitty cause I was tired as fuck last night and just finished it today with zero motivation whatsoever. Enjoy anyway yeah.

The pain was unbearable.

Mulder let the alcohol slide down his throat, sinking into his stomach as he stood hunched over the counter. The flask was gripped tightly in his bruised hands, the FBI Agent feeling like he was about to topple over. He grabbed his head and set his drink down, stumbling backward and slipping, his body crashing into the ground. A groan left Mulder's lips as he felt blood trickle down his head, the brown-haired man's vision becoming fuzzy. He could faintly hear thunder rumbling in the distance, all light mostly cut off from the darkness of his apartment and the clouds covering the sky outside.

His shattered heart pounded inside of his chest. His body felt as if it weighed twenty tons, weakness spreading throughout his limbs. Mulder couldn't even bring himself to stagger back to his feet. His green eyes fluttered open and closed for a few seconds, the pain beating against his head and the blood turning into a small pool around his left arm. Mulder gritted his teeth as he gently touched the back of his head, pulling his hand back as more pain shot through. The FBI Agent could already feel the bump and the blood running down, knowing that was going to leave another injury. Joy.

After another ten minutes of lying on the floor numbly, Mulder finally was able to pull himself up and quickly fell onto the couch, the cushions not as welcoming as he wished they were. Though, they were much more comfortable than hard, kitchen tile floor. Drowsiness overcame Mulder and his eyes closed. However, upon remembering about how much beer he'd just downed, adrenaline rushed through his veins and caused his eyes to spring wide open. He couldn't sleep yet. He'd just finished the whole can.

That numbness was fading away again. Mulder wanted to go back to grab the flask but truly didn't want to fall again. He was too tired. Though maybe he'd smash his head against the side of the counter and die, bleed out to death. That would be great. Then he wouldn't have to take his own life himself. Because if this was the pain he was going to be feeling the rest of his life... Mulder wanted no part of it. Shit this was even worse than when Scully got with Colin. Because this... this was true heartache. It throbbed through his whole body and stabbed him from the inside out, breaking apart his heart and tearing open his insides. It hurt. It hurt so badly.

Mulder never should've broken up with Rodrick. That was the cause of most of this; the love of his life was gone. Most likely never wanted to see him again, of course, Mulder probably.... well he was such a pussy he would want to see Rodrick again but that wasn't the case. The guilt was growing so horrible that he'd resorted to throwing his hands through glass, slamming his head into walls, doing anything to distract himself.

And then there was Diana. Mulder had let them slip back into their ways. All she did was piss him off, so he just left the apartment for hours at a time to do whatever... go to bars, drive around. Didn't matter. Mulder was tired of being manipulated into sex. He was tired of being slapped around again. He was tired of being abused and feeling like shit about himself but he still kept Diana around because she was the only thing left in his life. And the brown-haired man wanted to hold onto that as long as he possibly could. Even though she had convinced Mulder to break up with Rodrick, to be with her instead, he... he still... he couldn't say loved. That would be horrible. But maybe he did. God Mulder really didn't know.

But then she'd left. Just as she always had. No note, no message, no final words of goodbye. Nothing. Gone. Everything gone. And it made Mulder want to kill himself more than ever before. He'd tried to drive his car into a building but swerved away the last minute after realizing he would most likely kill other innocent people if he did that. So Mulder decided against it. Then he went back to work and Skinner put him on a fucking temporary leave for emotional shit and took away his gun. Now Mulder couldn't kill himself and he felt worse than ever without anything to do, anything to distract him.

Rodrick was gone. Scully was gone. Diana was gone. His parents were gone. Samantha was gone. Mulder saw no reason to live but didn't want to slit his wrists because he just didn't want that much pain. Pussy. God he fucking hated himself. All the time. So now he was living alone once more, no one ever checking up on him, not visiting anyone, not working. Mulder was simply alone with his thoughts, his dark apartment, and his beer. 

Well. Scully. Scully had come to check on him, once. But he'd screamed at her to never come back again (this was not too long after Diana had left) and she hadn't. Scully hadn't even fought back. It broke his heart. It broke every part of him and he wanted to come crying to her on her doorstep but was not going to do that.

Rodrick. Yes. There was Rodrick, of course. But Mulder didn't see Rodrick anymore. After breaking up with him, even after Diana left... the FBI Agent never went out. He hardly even ate, just drank. And drank. And drank. Never even thinking about what he was doing to his body but Mulder honestly couldn't care less. He was done with everything and would allow himself to die in any way that didn't involve too much pain. So that was starving himself to death, or drinking himself to death. Either one was fine.

Mulder was feeling exactly like he had when he put Colin in a wheelchair. Well, worse. Of course worse. So he tried to numb away every shitty feeling but could hardly even do that anymore. Maybe Mulder wanted to feel guilt. He truly did deserve it so might as well let it destroy him. Oh fuck. But he didn't want it. Because it hurt so bad. Worse than getting stabbed. Worse than getting shot. Worse than anything he'd ever felt before in his life.

He had nothing left. No one left. Just a waste of space, as he usually had been but.. this time he had hurt people. Emotionally. Because of his own problems. And that's what made him feel so horrible. If Mulder had just taken it all everyone would be fine but no. No he had to take it out on other people. Rodrick. Scully. Colin. Diana. Skinner. Pretty much everyone.

Fuck. He let his face fall into his hands and sighed heavily. Always what he was feeling without enough alcohol in his body. So Mulder forced himself to stand up and stumbled back over to the counter, grabbing another beer from the fridge and gulping it in about two sips. He crumpled it up and threw it in the trash, grabbing another and finishing it off as quickly as possible. That fuzziness returned and he took in a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting his body slide to the floor. Everything hurt, physically, but hey, that was better than what he'd been feeling.

Much better. He didn't even want to let himself think of any of that again. Just get drunk all the time. Maybe that would work. Hopefully. Mulder would at least try it. And if it did work, well.. he'd just keep doing that until he was able to go back to work. And if work didn't help him, then... then he'd at least have his gun to finish him off.

One thing to look forward to.


	4. Drive It Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder goes out for a late-night drive to forget his problems. It turns into something much more.

Mulder's heart was so filled with loneliness that night that he found himself immediately in his car on the dark, carless roads.

Shadows swallowed everything whole. The moon was dimmed by the clouds covering it, hardly any light illuminating down on the Washington street Mulder was on. His head was slightly hung as he drove, green eyes dark and his insides twisting with guilt. His hands were shaking. Every time the FBI Agent tried to stop them they did it more.

Mulder felt the tears pricking the edges of his eyes. He attempted to blink them away but to no avail, they continued returning. Darkness stormed inside his mind and showered every once positive light with a destructive, maddening and negative force, blowing everything he'd once loved farther and farther away. He couldn't catch up. Every time Mulder took a step he took five steps backwards, and eventually was lost in the midst of a dark sea.

Alone. Forever alone. The words affected the brown-haired male very much. After Samantha had been abducted, Mulder had always been alone. No one had ever given a shit about him, not really. Emotionally neglected by both of his parents. Mentally abused by his mother. Physically abused by his father. Hell, he'd tried to kill himself two months after and had gotten into more trouble just for going missing for those long hours.

Mulder remembered the way the belt felt. How hard it snapped his skin, how it sounded when it whiplashed into the air and came back down on his body. He remembered crying. His father would abuse him more if he screamed, so he learned to shut up eventually. His tears would stain his cheeks and wrinkle his shirt. The blood would run down his chest and sides and all he could remember was pain. Being hurt by someone you loved, and thought loved you, was the worst thing that could ever happen to a child. And Mulder had been so sensitive. So fragile after losing Samantha.

He had been shattered.

Mulder's heart had never fully healed. He learned to mask his emotions. He learned to keep secrets. He learned to tell lies, to keep everything inside until he inevitably broke down. Alone. Always alone. The loneliness and grief and anger consumed his mind and heart and he was changed. Turned into a completely new person. Stronger now, but not trusting of anyone. Mulder was always paranoid. Nightmares occurred on a daily basis, returning back to fire or even to Samantha. Usually he didn't scream, just because it had become so embedded in his mind not to. However, Mulder couldn't always control it. Not when it was to a certain degree of horrible.

He often saw his father's eyes. Once wise, then turned into a monster. Mulder didn't know what had changed him so drastically. Once a lover, then an abuser. Even Samantha's abduction didn't validate that, not for Mulder.

But he'd still grieved when his father had been murdered by Alex Krycek. All he'd wanted to do was talk. But instead, Bill Mulder had been killed, just in the bathroom on the other side of the house. Made to look like a suicide, though Mulder screamed homicide and all fingers pointed to him. Only Scully had been there to help. Even if she'd shot him in the shoulder to refrain from him murdering Krycek when he'd been right at his fingertips.

Mulder could also distinctly remember his father's substance abuse. Alcohol and cigarettes, littered all over the house, windows broken and doors bashed in from where he'd stuck his foot or hand through. Mulder's heart lurched. He was becoming his father, right? The alcohol. Punching walls or glass. Fucking cigarettes, which he'd picked up on recently. Morleys. Shit. He was becoming his father.

That thought scared him badly. Mulder couldn't even imagine being the most terrifying man on earth. But he was. He'd hurt more people than he could even count. Phoebe. Diana. Skinner. Scully. Rodrick.

FUCK. Rodrick. He'd hurt Rodrick so badly that Mulder had hurt himself. Breaking up with him in that way had been so hard. So horrible. But he'd done it anyway. Like the selfish prick he was. He'd left the love of his life all for Diana, who'd left soon after anyway.

And then Diana had continued to manipulate him. The sex was horrible. Mulder felt so dirty afterwards, even a shower didn't help. He longed for the presence of Rodrick. He missed the casual talks and flirts, even the deeper conversations. He missed sleeping in a bed with Rodrick, being there beside him and having someone to finally be able to truly love. He missed everything about his... former lover.

But Mulder had to fuck it up. He fucked everything up. He couldn't even recall the last time something went to shit because of someone else. Mulder had always tried to help others, to pick up the pieces for them and put them back together. But no one had ever tried for him. Then again he wouldn't let them. He never told anyone his past. Maybe Scully, but she didn't know much of anything apart from his father's abuse and Samantha's disappearance.

Phoebe had wanted.. hell, Mulder didn't even know. Diana had wanted dominance over someone. And he and Scully had never been truly, officially together, even though he knew those feelings had once been there. Rodrick? Rodrick was different from everyone else. Rodrick didn't care who he was, he just wanted to be with Mulder because he loved him. And Mulder felt the same way about Rodrick. Though it never lasted with good relationships. Always the toxic ones, or none at all. Because again. Mulder fucked everything up.

His mind crossed back to his mother. Dear, old Teena. The mother that would never comfort Mulder when he sobbed endlessly in his room. The mother that would never bother to congratulate him for his good grades. The mother that would never even attempt to reach out to Mulder unless it was about Bill. Or Samantha.

The FBI Agent still felt grief over those things. Even when Mulder would be in the hospital, ill or violently injured, his mother would hardly show up. And if she did, it was only for a few minutes, never even really talking to him. His heart twisted at the knowledge that Mulder had never been the favored child. No matter what he did, he would always be lesser. Because Samantha had been their little girl. Full Mulder, not half Spender like the brown-haired male was. Always looked upon as the greater child.

And it hurt. It hurt so badly that Mulder had devoted his whole life to finding Samantha just to make his parents proud. 

And it had ended with both dying. His father getting murdered. His mother committing suicide, just like Mulder would undoubtedly do some day.

Oh. Teena's suicide. That hurt his heart more than Mulder would ever be able to admit. He'd missed her call. He'd been busy with other things. Then again he just hadn't wanted to talk to her whatsoever. He hadn't thought it was important.

It was important. 

Information about Samantha could've been shared. Mulder could've talked to his mother before she took her life. Hell, he could've possibly talked her out of it.

But no. Mulder had to be a selfish prick again. He had to only think for himself. He had to have that hate and hurt in his heart and refuse to take the call out of pettiness. And what? Not being the more liked kid? Pathetic.

Mulder didn't realize he was speeding up. His heart race was beating faster every second, thinking those awful thoughts over and over and over again. He'd begun to let the tears fall, his breaths coming out in gasps as he felt he was beginning to hyperventilate. Mulder simply couldn't catch his breath. His lungs felt small, collapsed. He felt like he was being beaten to death by his father. Sobs escaped his mouth and he closed his eyes and stepped harder on the gas.

When he opened his eyes, he was heading straight for a building. He didn't know what it was. He didn't know if anyone was in there. All he knew was that he couldn't take this anymore and that he needed to die. It was time to go. It was over, he had no reason to live.

FUCK.

Mulder slammed on the breaks, his head almost colliding with the steering wheel as he narrowly swerved away from the side of the building. Luckily no one was on this road, since it was pretty far out of town. Shit, Mulder hardly knew where he was, he'd been so deep in thought.

He continued to drive numbly until he figured out where the fuck he was and made his way back home. Mulder's heart felt like it was beating out of his chest and the tears continued to fall but he could actually breathe now. The FBI Agent's hands were shaking so badly he forced himself to pull over on the side of the road.

Mulder put the car in park and drew his knees to his chest, letting out a few shaky breaths as another sob came out of his jaws. Fuck he thought he'd gone past this. He was fine, all it had been was... was a little bit of dark thoughts. Nothing much. Just the usual. But he felt so traumatized by what he did he thought about slamming his head through a window and ending it now.

But something held Mulder back. He wasn't sure what. All he knew was that right now he was shaking so badly he had to crawl into the backseat and lay down. Tears streamed down his face and inevitably he curled into a ball and buried his face into the seat, letting the cries echo into the car as he thought about how many people he could've killed if he actually went through with that.

Mulder cried for a long time. It wouldn't stop. He wasn't aware he'd been hurting this much but... clearly he had. And that pain wasn't going to stop, no matter how much he sobbed. Unfortunately.

The mist in the sky eventually began to lift and Mulder could actually see the stars in the sky. He gazed at them for a long time, his shaking and crying ceasing as he grew calmer as the night went on. Mulder didn't really feel good enough to drive so he let his head rest on the seat, his green eyes staring ahead for a while until he was able to close them.

Mulder felt a brief fuzz as his mind began to go blank. Darkness was consuming everything and that sleep was almost sinking in. Then Mulder let out one last heavy sigh before he was long gone into a night of dreamless peace.


	5. Drunken Voicemails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder leaves Rodrick a depressing voicemail while he's drunk.

Mulder hadn't expected to get this drunk.

All he'd done was drop by the bar, gotten a drink and watched the people around him communicate. But as the night dragged on he let himself drink more and more, and well... the alcohol overtook his body. He hardly remembered what he'd even done at the bar. Who knows. It was all a fuzz.

Mulder had eventually left. He was aware that if he was pulled over he could easily get a DUI and get kicked out of the FBI but honestly, at this point, Mulder didn't care. Murphy's Law had fucked him over so much at this point, the brown-haired male wouldn't even be surprised.

So he drove. Very drunkly. But luckily it was late at night and there wasn't much traffic. He could see colors so the street lights weren't too hard to notice and process. Mulder then began to drive without really knowing where he was going, just letting his heart lead the way. If he crashed into a wall he crashed into a wall. Not much mattered anymore.

Mulder wound up on a deserted road outside of Washington. His heart suddenly became heavy in his chest, his eyes dark as the dim moon shone down on him. Stars twinkled in the sky and no clouds were in sight. The FBI Agent frowned. That was disappointing. He loved clouds and rain.

The dirt road stretched on for a while. Dust kicked up in the air from his tires, a forest beginning to come into view. Mulder thought it might be the forest he and Rodrick first visited to catch wendigos but... it wasn't.

Rodrick.

The thought of his former lover weighed Mulder down so badly. The guilt was almost too much to handle. Hell, he'd tried to fucking kill himself, but alas, he was too much of a coward. He always was, always had been. The brown-haired male acted strong but... he wasn't. It was all a mask to cover the pain that stuck with his heart all those years. Ever since he'd been twelve and Samantha was abducted. Tried to kill himself, gotten beaten by his dad, emotionally abused by his mom, just shitty things happening left and right... 

And Mulder thought Scully leaving him had been bad.

Being the cause of this heartbreak was the worst of it all. Because deep down, Mulder knew he'd done it. He'd fucked everything up. He'd hurt Rodrick.

But the FBI Agent hurt everyone he touched. Social isolation clearly didn't work, so what else was there to do? And the fucker named God apparently didn't want him to die either so what the fuck else could happen? Was this hell? Maybe he was in purgatory or some stupid shit. Trying to hurtle over past mistakes even though Mulder was aware the past couldn't be mended. The FBI Agent had been fucked up too much for that. And therapy was fucking bullshit and Mulder would give a middle finger to that thought any day.

Unfortunately, wanting to become a psychologist and having training in it hadn't been great for the brown-haired male. Because of it, he simply couldn't go to therapy. And that really was shit, because Mulder needed help. But he refused and fucked himself up more and more until his heart exploded and the pain was too much to bear so he tried to kill himself. Shit he couldn't count how many times he'd even tried to take his life. He remembered college and shivered at the thought.

That had been the worst one. That's all he knew.

Goddammit. Mulder wished he had more alcohol because the numbing effects were clearly wearing off. He was feeling now. That was the worst. 

Looks like hours of drinking and putting poison into your body didn't do much in the long run.

Huffing, Mulder pulled his car over on the side of the road. He opened the door and grabbed his cigarette and lighter, shutting it and leaning against the side of the car. He lit the cigarette and placed it between his lips, inhaling the smoke and coughing it out. Mulder stared at the stars and suddenly wanted to... call Rodrick.

He won't answer, you fucking idiot, a voice hissed in the back of his mind. 

Rodrick never did. But Mulder didn't blame his former lover. Not at all. If the FBI Agent ever got calls he never heard them because his answering machine was off. What the fuck was the point of that stupid shit anymore. He needed to isolate himself.

Turning around and reaching through the open window, Mulder grabbed his phone and sunk to the ground, flicking the cigarette out of his fingers and crushing it with his shoe. The brown-haired male dialed Rodrick's number, which he knew by heart, and let the phone be on speaker.

Mulder knew Rodrick wouldn't pick up. But he'd at least leave a voicemail. Something to at least... explain why he'd done what he'd done. He was fucked up. Was that explanation enough?

He heard the Heffley's usual voicemail and it cut to the ring, allowing Mulder to leave a voicemail. He spluttered out another breath of smoke, sighing as he leaned back again.

"I'm looking at the stars right now," Mulder slurred, his voice a bit quiet. "For some reason they reminded me of you."

The FBI Agent really wasn't sure why. Shit he still loved Rodrick. That thought was heartbreaking and pathetic. More pathetic.

"I j-just... wanted to apologize since I can't do it unless I'm fucking hammered." Mulder curled his fingers into the dirt road below, feeling the pain fill him up inside. "So I'm drunk. Fucking cliché ass voicemail that you won't even listen to but it helps me and I'd rather not try to kill myself again so yeah. Sorry for the burden."

Wow he'd already admitted a lot but he was still so drunk Mulder hardly noticed. Being honest was the only thing that could even begin to mend he and Rodrick's relationship. And if there was one thing the FBI Agent knew, it was that he had never been honest in any of his relationships. Not about himself, at least.

"I don't know what I saw in Diana," Mulder admitted after a period of silence. "Sh-She was never as amazing as you. I couldn't joke with her. I fucking hated her." His heart felt like it has shriveled up and died in his chest. The person he'd chosen over Rodrick had left. But Mulder wouldn't admit that. It would be too horrible and embarrassing and shitty. "And fuck she called me Fox even when I told her how much I fucking hate my name and to call me Mulder."

He sighed heavily. "But I-I listened to her lies. And I was manipulated because heyyyy I'm a fucking piece of shit that deserves nothing so maybe this is just God getting back at me for being an ignorant asshole and fucking everyone over." He hesitated. "So you can go ahead and think that about me because trust me Rodrick, I know that shit is true. And you're the only one I can admit it to because you know it best." Mulder let out a dry chuckle but didn't feel amused. He felt the opposite. His heart was breaking in his chest and sinking into darkness and his mind was turning into a fuzz again and he hardly knew what he was saying.

"I'm also a piece of shit just for so many reasons. Don't know how many times I left Scully for some unimaginable truth that always turned out to be a lie." Mulder sighed. "I mean I'm so fucking pathetic that my goddamn boss had to take my gun away for suicide watch or whatever the fuck. Yeah dumbass, there are other ways to kill yourself. Dumb fuck. No, no, I'm the dumb fuck, shut the fuck up Mulder." 

God he wanted to slam his head into the car and just die now. He hated admitting all of this but at the same time it felt... sort of nice. The FBI Agent didn't know. He'd never been this honest with someone in his life. So he might as well continue to rant.

"So yeah, no gun, no badge and no work. Pretty sure I'm about to shove my head through a fucking window because it's torture not having anything or anyone. Then again I did that so I can blame myself for that one. Fucking ticking time bomb curse here. Everyone I touch turns to inevitable ashes, because I either get them killed or have them leave me."

Mulder's lip quivered. His throat began to burn. Was he really going to cry? Like a fucking child? Yes. Yes, he was, because he suddenly felt twelve again. "A-And I just hate myself s-so much for everything." The FBI Agent's voice began to crack. "Because all I-I do is fuck everything up be-because I-I can't let my life be okay and b-be happy. So what the fuck is the point of l-living anymore? Oh, that's right, tr-trying to kill yourself however many fucking times and failing doesn't help so I don't know what the fuck to do if God won't let me end this shitty, pathetic life."

A sob left his lips and he began to cry. Mulder hated himself. "I-I don't know what the fuck this even is. I wanted t-to apologize for being a fucking dick but it just turned into a terrible rant and now I feel e-even worse. B-But I'm so drunk I hopefully won't r-remember. So g-go ahead and delete it if you got this far, which I doubt you did." He thought more of how he'd betrayed Rodrick and covered his mouth to stop more heavy sobs. "I-I'm s-s-sorry Rod-Rodrick. L-l-love you."

Mulder ended the call and cried with anguish into the night. Because right now, all the brown-haired male was was a hurting soul with nothing left to live for. And that was a dark, depressing thought.


	6. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> young!Fox Mulder || Fox talks about his life after Samantha is abducted. He skips school to do something he’ll forever regret.

Fox really hadn't expected himself to be pushed this far.

In the past few months following his sister Samantha's disappearance, Fox's parents had become different. They spoke to him as if he were a complete stranger. They didn't even ask how he was, or how his day had gone. But... that's not what even hurt the most.

His father had hit him. Hit him. Not once in Fox's life had he been struck. Spanked? Maybe, as a child. But not like this. This was different. Being physically hit in the face was a terrible feeling. Fox hadn't even meant to spill the drink; he was just trying to help. He knew his parents were depressed. But... then his father punched him. In the face. And a horrible feeling crept into his heart but all he could do was stare at his father in shock.

"You're fine. Go away." The words still haunted Fox's mind. Every day he'd thought of them. And every day following that punch, he'd been hit more.

The first one had only been a small bruise. Hardly even noticeable on his cheek. But then his father started to take out the belt. Every time it had come back down on his bare skin he'd screamed. And he'd been abused more. 

"Don't fucking scream," his father had hissed. "Do you want me to punish you more? No. Stop."

And oh god had it hurt. It hurt so much more than the first time. It was like someone was dragging a dull knife through his chest, ripping open his skin and heart and crumbling it to the ground.

The nightmares hadn't been any help. Fox would wake up, screaming in terror, looking around for Samantha to help him, like she always had in the past. His fear of fires had dragged on every since he'd seen that house burn down, and he'd gone inside to see the ashes. That thought hadn't ever left him, and soon after he grew to hate fire. It was possibly even a phobia.

But when he'd had nightmares about it, Samantha had always been there for him. She'd helped him go back to sleep. It was like she was the bigger sister, even though Fox was two years older.

But now? When he'd cry into the night, his voice breaking, seeing Samantha being taken over and over again, no one came to his aid. His mother was always in bed or crying. Usually both. Even when he would sob into his pillow, or out loud, the guilt weighing him down so heavily, his mother would never come. She would sometimes just stare at him when he came into their room to sleep. Eventually they both told him he had to sleep in his own bed and to not come back in their room at night again.

Fox had been alone. He had no one to talk to—everyone at school made fun of him, mocked him. Told him he'd murdered Samantha. If only they knew what he'd seen. But those words? They hurt. He was seen as a killer. Or people made fun of him for his sister dying.

Fox had promised himself he wouldn't cut. He wanted to so badly; the razors were right there. But he didn't want to act weak. He was almost a teenager; he could handle this. So he tore his eyes away from any sharp edges, instead letting his mind rest in pain without taking it out on himself.

Every day became a routine. He'd wake up, take a shower and avoid cutting, make his lunch and his father's lunch for work, catch the bus for school, and get pushed around by everyone. Upon returning home, his father would drunkenly stagger over to him and tell him whatever he had to say. Then he'd get out the belt and tell Fox to hush. And Fox would; he'd learned to keep his mouth shut or he'd get beaten more. And his father made him bleed. Fox would hiss in pain in the shower, staring at the wounds and the older scars he'd gained.

It wore him down. He eventually grew so depressed he skipped days of school, just staying in bed or not going to the campus altogether. He hated the stinging words of his peers. He hated returning back home to his drunk father who would beat him and take his anger out on him.

Fox luckily wasn't punished for skipping. He wasn't scared about the school finding out—only his parents. But it turned out they didn't care. They didn't listen to their answering machine so any messages from the school office that came through never made it to their ears. Which was a relief, or Fox would probably get murdered. 

It was nice, though. He'd just lay in the dark and his parents would leave for work. They wouldn't even check whether he was still in the house or not. Of course, Fox still made his father lunch or he'd grow angry—but that was about it. He didn't have to do anything else.

His grades were dropping, however. Fox felt so terrible about himself because of it. If he'd been the one to get taken, not Samantha, then his parents would be happy. Because Fox had never been the favored child. He just wanted to please. But how could he change something that wasn't really even his fault?

However...things took a turn for Fox's mentality on his thirteenth birthday.

He was so proud. He was a teenager now. He felt so alive. So changed. Fox went to school in an amazing mood for once. His home room gave him the crown hat that said, "Happy birthday, Fox!" that he was allowed to wear all day.

Fox came home in a great mood as well. He was so excited. He'd expected presents, a happy birthday banner, anything... maybe even a non-drunk father that wouldn't hit him and an ecstatic mother that wouldn't cry all day. What more could he ask for?

Only... to come home to find that wasn't the case. His father was more drunk than ever. Fox was so terrified he ran up the stairs to escape.

His father chased after him.

Fox tried to lock his door, but his father was quicker. He was roughly grabbed and before he knew it, he'd been thrown down the stairs. Pain ripped through every bone in his body and he couldn't breathe. He began to cry, a panic attack coming on. His mother wasn't home, so his father just stared at him. 

Fox was taken to the hospital by his reluctant father. He'd had a broken rib and used the excuse he'd fallen down the stairs. As for the scars, he said he fell into a cactus pile (his father had told him to say that). And wow, they actually believed him.

His father was just too charming. He wasn't an abuser. He probably gave Fox everything he wanted. He was sure that's what they thought. But it wasn't true. It was never true.

More or less, Fox's birthday had been ruined. He felt so terrible about himself that after he'd healed he'd grown angry. He hated everyone. He lashed out at anyone that spoke to him except his parents. He continued to be beaten, the scars racking up and leaving Fox completely broken and grieving.

So now? Now, he was here. Staring out at the sunset, underneath the tree on a large sloping hill out in the plains. He was alone; Fox had completely skipped school and just... walked. He'd stolen a rope from the garage and made it into a noose.

Fox planned to kill himself. There was nothing to live for anymore. His sister was probably dead; she'd disappeared right in front of his eyes. His parents hated him. He was abused, physically and emotionally. His classmates told him he was a murderer.

Fox was done. He'd had enough. He was finished lying for his father. He hadn't broken his ribs from falling down the stairs. He'd been pushed. By the devil himself.

So Fox watched the orangey, painted sky for a while longer before reaching into his backpack and grabbing the rope. He threw it over the lowest branch and tied it together until it was perfect.

Wow. He was going to kill himself. Hang himself. This was it. These would be his last breaths, his last dying words and thoughts.

So Fox said the first thing that came to his mind.

"I love you Samantha."

And he let his head fall into the hole and let his body hang. And Fox suddenly couldn't breathe and he flailed his arms as everything in his body was seemingly cut off. God he was killing himself he was killing himself he was actually doing it this was it.

Fox didn't know how long he'd been hanging there, forcing himself to die and not let himself breathe and live. It seemed like hours but it couldn't have been. He would've been dead.

And suddenly, there was a loud crack and the branch snapped. Fox was winded as he hit the ground, gasping for air and curling into a ball, his fingers digging into the dirt below him. His lungs felt like they'd shrunken, hardly taking in any air. He choked on his breath and began to sob. The tears streamed down his cheeks and he realized how pained he really was for the first time in months.

Fox had tried to kill himself, and he'd failed. How pathetic was that?

But no one could find out. Ever. This had to be kept to himself. Everyone would tell him he was trying to die to escape prison for murdering Samantha. His father would beat him more. Fox couldn't have that.

Then he realized a sickening thought. He'd been out for so long. Many more hours than when he usually returned home. His father would be pissed. His mother was most likely freaking out at this moment. He was dead. Now Fox really wished he'd succeeded in taking his life.

After a longer while of crying, Fox suddenly forced himself to stand up. He left the noose—he couldn't return it back home. So he grabbed his backpack, threw it across his shoulders, and began the trek home.

It took Fox a long time to reach home. He was on his front porch and there were already stars twinkling in the sky, the moon rising ever so slowly.

Fox took a deep breath. His eyes darkened at the notion of what was about to happen to him. He already knew, but the teen was bracing himself for the pain.

And, willing himself to move, Fox entered the dark house. And what happened next wasn't something that would ever be spoken about again.

a/n: first young Mulder oneshot so yeah. Hope you enjoyed. Sort of a vent on shitty feelings but yeah I'm honestly surprised I haven't done one of these before. Mulder had such a terrible childhood I guess we're just now getting into it. So... expect more, I guess? He attempts suicide in college so might write that next when I'm upset.

Also notice how young Mulder doesn't cuss cause yeah he's a good kid and I call him "Fox", not Mulder. That's just cause he hasn't really told himself he hates his name yet. That's later.

Anyway. Yeah. There you go. Angst galore of me torturing a 13 year old. Thanks for reading.


	7. In Another Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake struggles with his mental health after Rodrick is run over by a car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Angst and NSFW. There's some sex as well, it's not too in depth but you can tell it's happening. 
> 
> Wanted to write this because I became oddly attached to Jake Anderson (AU Fox Mulder) for the few hours I roleplayed him. Decided he deserved a little more book time, so here he is.

"F-fuck... yeah..."

Jake's heavy pants filled the dark room. His fingers gripped the covers as he was pushed into the pillow, his eyes screwed shut as he felt pleasure but also pain. After a while Clay had flopped down beside him, the other ginger male letting out heavy sighs. Sweat dripped from Jake's face and dampened the covers, his ragged breaths eventually becoming slower and more evened out.

The two naked men were quiet as they stared up at the ceiling. Jake felt his hollow heart rip apart as the image flashed before his mind. Blood, death, a car horn blaring in his ears. His breath hitched and he immediately threw himself to his feet, desperately searching for his clothes, hot tears beginning to stream down his cheeks as sobs choked from his throat.

"Jake? Jake, what's going on?" Clay was immediately at his side, the other male only having on boxers now but the businessman was nearly fully dressed, save his pants. He cried but pushed his friend away, shaking his head.

"Jake, come on!" Clay threw himself in front of the brown-haired male, eyes darkened with worry. "You've been like this ever since you met that Rodrick guy."

_Fuck. Fuck. I killed him. I got him killed. He got ran over because of me. If I'd let him stay for breakfast he wouldn't have been murdered right in front of my house._

He still had nightmares. Jake had seen it happen; after all, the businessman had watched the other male walk out just to make sure he was okay. But... it had failed. Rodrick hadn't been okay.

_He'd been fucking run over by a car._

It had been at least two months and Jake still hadn't been able to get the visions out of his mind, or stop himself from screaming at the top of his lungs in the middle of the night, the only comfort being the sheets and his pillows. He was so, so alone and his happiness had been destroyed since then. Even he and Clay's usual sex nights were becoming hard to handle.

He didn't want to live. He couldn't do this anymore. Money didn't matter, a mansion was nothing compared to the pure love he'd felt that night. The way his heart had swelled after even just seeing Rodrick, and fuck had being in bed with that man made him fall even more. But now that was gone and his heart was ripped open and he felt like he was bleeding out from all sides. Jake didn't find pleasure in sex anymore, he hated work, he hated his life.

All because of that damned Rodrick.

"I'm fine, Clay," Jake whispered, trying to get past his friend but failing.

"I said I'm fine, Clay!" he spat. The other man's eyes widened in slight shock at his yell. Jake had never yelled at his friend before.

Finally Clay stopped and crossed his arms, rage burning in his eyes. "Fine then, asshole! Honestly I don't care what you do. I tried to have a good time with you tonight but y-you're just messing it up so whatever! Go ruin your life, I don't care." Clay turned away, not saying anything else.

The words stung. Jake flinched, chills wrapping up his limbs as he stared at Clay in cold shock. His hands began to shake as he looked at the back of the other male. Everything hurt. His heart, his soul, hell he'd had sex so many times to try to numb the pain he physically hurt. But Jake couldn't lose the one person in his life he had left. If Clay was gone... then he was afraid he'd have nothing else to life for. Jake didn't trust himself anymore. Even if he didn't _want_ to kill himself.. he knew he would if he was left all alone.

"Fuck. I-I'm sorry." Jake took a step forward and wrapped his arms around Clay, feeling a tingle of warmth come up his arms but it was nothing like he'd felt with Rodrick. Maybe he'd never feel that again.

Clay turned, his blue eyes brimming with tears as he stared at his friend. "I didn't mean to say that, Jake. I-I'm just so frustrated, all you've been doing is pushing me away and y-you cut off our time early.." He looked away.

The businessman sighed, rubbing his hand through Clay's wild ginger hair. He forced a smile. "I'm sorry baby, you're right, I haven't meant to. I'm just stressed out you know?"

Clay's eyes darkened. "I know what happened to Rodrick. I know he died in front of your house." Jake tensed up, biting his lip as tears pricked his eyes. "You told me you didn't see any of it happen.. you didn't know him too long either but... is that what's been bothering you? Are you sad you lost him or... or are you hiding something else about what you saw?"

Jake then forced a laugh and waved his friend off. "No! I told you I didn't see anything. I'm just stressed out from work okay? Now stop pressing and let me kiss you."

Clay didn't object as the businessman dove forward and trapped his friend on the bed, their lips locked in a sloppy kiss. Their bodies rubbed together as they stripped themselves naked and Jake grunted when Clay entered him, not being as soft as usual but it was okay. He hardly felt it, he was so numb inside he just faked moans and orgasms to make Clay feel better.

_Clay loves me but he won't tell me. I don't love him. Will we ever be able to sort this out between each other?_

Jake's body rocked with the bed as he turned his head to look outside, the moon flashing down between the slitted blinds. Stars twinkled in the sky and he was so captured by them he didn't even feel Clay stroke him or lean down to kiss his neck several times.

All Jake knew was that he wasn't happy. He wasn't sure he'd ever be, but... maybe he was somewhere else, in another universe, in another life.. and maybe, hopefully, he was happy there.

And if Rodrick was happy, wherever he now was... that was all that mattered.


	8. Crumbling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College!Mulder || Mulder can't deal with the grief. He has to find another way out.

Everything crumbled beneath Fox Mulder in an instant.

His heart pounded, his body thumping with the rhythm as he stumbled to the ground, choking on whatever breath he had left. His eyes glazed over. His hands shook.

The numbness grasped everything inside him until he was nothing but a walking corpse, void of emotions and lacking the empathy he'd always carried with him.

He crawled into the bathroom with what little strength he had left, gasping as he pulled himself to his knees and stared at the floor. Static deafened his senses and the next thing he knew he'd smashed the mirror, blood dripping down his arms. Mulder didn't feel it. He gasped and ran his bloody fingers through his hair stressfully, coughing as sobs began to rack his body and he fell back to the ground. The tears fell down his cheeks and the memories came rushing back, splitting open his heart and breaking away his mind.

Mulder couldn't take it. He shut the door, staring at his reflection before his eyes flickered down to the razor. He held his breath and picked it up with trembling hands, murmuring, "This is right... this is right..."

He coughed more as he drew the blade against his skin. More tears fell as the physical pain drowned him in waves, causing screams of agony to leave his lips. He collapsed to the tile floor, his mind overcome by shock as he watched the blood seep out of the wounds and drip into a pool. Nausea overcame him and he whirled around, spilling his insides into the toilet. He curled up into a ball, a mess of blood and tears, setting his head on the ground and letting his arms sprawl out in front of him.

Darkness hazed his vision. He choked and wiped his eyes, the crimson liquid smeared on his face as he dug the razor further into his arms. He yelled in agony and kicked with his whole might, knocking over appliances on the counter and feeling the blade connect with the inside of his arm.

"FUCK!"

He cried harder, the visions flashing before his eyes as he pulled himself up with one of his arms, crying out in pain as the other throbbed and went numb. The world became blurry, his whole body giving out.

"Please... g-god... let this kill me..." His voice broke, the helpless male not even having the strength to reach for the razor. "Please..."

The sides of his sight dampened into shadows, darkness filling everything inside him. He saw the flicker of movement, a crashing sound, and everything faded away before he even knew what was happening.


	9. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> young!Mulder || David makes Fox Mulder a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy so yeah there's some violence in this one, which I'm sure you all are used to anyway, and an OC named David Wilson that's an old childhood friend of Mulder's. They were sorta shipped by our ATAS fanbase (lol who am I kidding it's just me, Alina, and our friends) and I decided to make a oneshot showing how great of a friend David is ;) Also if you've read ATAS the full way through you've seen this guy quite recently. So here's his kiddy version! Enjoy!

"Where are those bruises from?"

Fox visibly stiffened, his mind looking like it was racking his next list of excuses on why he was injured. David frowned, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from his friend. What would he say this time?

"I fell down the steps outside," he finally said.

David flinched. It was almost like Fox was pretending he didn't know what his dad did to him. I mean come on, the Mulder had begged him to not tell child protective services, the police, or anyone. David had frowned, knowing that wasn't the right thing to do but... he was loyal. He wanted to stay loyal, that meant keeping Fox's secrets.

Even if he felt disgusted at himself for keeping them.

"Come on, we're gonna be late for class," Fox urged.

David rolled his eyes. "It's our last period, what's the big deal?"

Fox whirled around, his hazel eyes flashing with fear and the teen knew what that look was. The look of a boy so terrified to get beaten by his dad he wouldn't even risk a phone call from the school home. God, it broke his heart.

"Okay," David sighed, rubbing his face. He was so tired, his insomnia was getting worse and he was so worried about Fox getting fatally injured he just couldn't find it inside himself to sleep at all. That anger bubbled up inside his chest, threatening to spill over soon if his friend's dad didn't stop abusing his son. Fox had already lost his sister, were lashes really necessary?

 _His dad is a drunk. His mom doesn't care. Why am I surprised, they're a broken family and William can't really take his anger and despair out on anyone.. except his son._ Which was so wrong in so many different ways.

Realizing that Fox was heading toward class before the bell rang, David hurried to catch up. A breath left his lips when he was tripped and he fell to the ground, groaning as his books scattered across the empty hall. He looked up and his green eyes immediately darkened to see who it was.

Dan Harmon, "Lip" (his real name was Lipten, some dumbass name given by dumbass parents) Moore, and Tommy Williams. All raging assholes that targeted Fox and, since he was friends with him, David.

"What's up, freak?" Dan scowled, his brows furrowed as a smirk stretched onto his lips. "Gonna go kill someone else today? They already let you off the hook for your sister, I can't imagine what else you're thinking of doing."

Fox flinched, his eyes becoming glassy and teary-eyed as he stepped away. His friend didn't say anything, just listened to the insults being spit until David couldn't take it anymore.

"Hey!" he shouted toward the older teens. "Get a grip. He didn't kill his sister, that's absurd, it's a legal fact that she was.." David looked towards Fox's heartbroken look and shuddered. "She was abducted, okay?"

"HAH! Abducted, what, was she taken by aliens?"

Okay now Fox was really freaking out. The other smaller male let out a choked sob as he wiped tears from his eyes, staggering back and losing his balance. Dan snorted as he strolled forward. "Wow. What a pathetic little creature. You actually hang out with this thing?"

David realized the bully had asked him a question and he narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, I do. He's a great guy and-"

The wind was knocked out of the brown-haired teen when a fist entered his gut. He tried to breathe but found he couldn't, David writhing as he fell to the ground. Fox was easily overcome by Dan and Tommy and crumpled to the ground, his cries filling the abandoned hall as he tried to fight back but failed so, so terribly. David realized Lip was the one that had punched him and he growled, leaping up and letting his fist connect with the guy's cheek.

Lip's eyes went ablaze and he tackled David. The younger teen scratched and kicked, blood flying all over the place as the bully snarled. "You fucking- AGH! Stop it with your little claws!"

Knuckles smashed into his face and he gasped, seeing black spots cover his vision. David's head fell back into the ground and he was punched again, and again, until the fear that Lip would actually kill him settled in. But he was too weak to fight back, his arms were like noodles compared to this guy. God he shouldn't have punched, he-

And it stopped almost as soon as it had started. The bullies scampered away when the bell rang, running to whatever class they were going to inevitably be late to. Since they were in the mostly abandoned part of the school no one probably heard... which David wished someone would've helped them.

The male touched his bloody forehead and felt like he was going to faint, his face was already aching and he was pretty sure he had a black eye. But when he looked over for Fox he saw his friend was in much worse shape, lying on his side and wheezing. The Wilson's eyes widened and he scrambled over, his own pain forgotten as he saw the agony Fox was in. God damn it, Fox had already been beaten by his dad, why'd those bullies have to make it worse?!

Biting down his anger, David let his arms wrap around Fox and he helped his friend up, feeling like his bones were being fucking crushed from Fox's weight, even though the other teen was smaller in size. David groaned, huffs leaving his lips as he led the way outside. And as he wrapped his arm around his friend's neck a chill wrapped down his limbs and shook him to the core. Butterflies filled his stomach and he was left breathless, what was that feeling?

When David looked over at Fox's tear stained face he realized now. He loved his friend. As a buddy and... maybe as something more. But Fox had enough to worry about, David wasn't going to mess that up by confessing or anything like that.. besides, he hadn't even come out to his family yet. His older brother knew but... he feared what his parents would say.

"W-wait where are we going?!" Fox asked suddenly in alarm, the teen just realizing they were leaving the school.

"Back to my place!" David chirped, masking the pain that ripped through his skull. "My brother is a nurse, he can help us."

"NO!" Fox ripped himself out of David's grasp and tried to limp back to his stuff but fell instead, panting and heaving uncomfortably.

"Fox, you're in terrible shape, come on, let's go-"

"NO! Y-you don't understand! I'll miss class, the school will call, my dad will beat me to hell, I'M NOT GONNA EVEN BE ABLE TO WALK TOMORROW BECAUSE OF WHAT HE'LL DO TO ME! I-I can't miss class! I can't! I... I.." His yells turned into sobs and David's heart broke for his friend, he couldn't even imagine that weight being held up on his shoulders. But he had to help Fox in any way possible.

So he crouched down by the other teen and brushed back his friend's brown hair, that tingly feeling running though his veins but he ignored it. "Fox, you've already missed class thanks to those bullies. You can't possibly make it, we're both hurt and my house is only half a block away. What are you gonna do, stumble into class like that? You'd be held up here even longer. I know your dad was worse yesterday Fox, and I know you're hurting because of these new injuries, but we have to get you cleaned up. Like I said, my brother will know what to do and if not he'll he happy to pay for your hospital fee. If you go, of course."

There was a long draw of silence before Fox's beautiful- wha? Beautiful? Where did that come from? Before Fox's hazel eyes opened and he nodded weakly. "Okay. You're right. Th-thanks David..."

His heart melted. David smiled at the thanks, helping Fox up and hobbling away from the school toward home.

"David... do you think my dad will ever stop... stop doing what he's doing? And will those guys at school finally leave me alone?"

David frowned at the out of the blue question. "Your dad will stop soon, you hear me? And don't worry about those stupid bullies! I'm gonna be here for you every step of the way."

David smiled softly and brought his friend closer.

"I promise."


	10. Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder grieves over his losses.

A blanket of darkness covered his vision.

He was  
...  
_Numb_.

That was the only thing Fox Mulder felt.

It spread through his body, his fingers feeling cold and his heart hardly thumping in his chest. His face was pale, his feet were sprawled out on the floor, blood splattered all around him. Fuck... fuck.. what the fuck had happened?

He groaned loudly, trying to pick his head up but it only resulted in a broken groan wrenching from his throat. It felt like his head was caved in, everything had been buzzing then it had gone black and now... now he couldn't feel anything.

A few coughs spluttered out of his mouth. _Crash!_ That was all he remembered. Mulder had been fine. He'd just been walking by the window, staring at the X the big scary black dude informant had put there, and then when he'd turned the other way to catch a glimpse of his fish...

Mulder lifted his hand weakly, feeling like the muscles in his arms were non-existent. He squinted his eyes to get a better look at the blood, but found he was also drenched in water.

Oh, fuck.

"FUCK!" Mulder yelled, jerking upward and hissing in pain. He nearly slumped back down but caught himself on the table. Stupid fucking drunk ass dipshit. Why the fuck was he so pathetic and always drinking and always being a pussy and—

His eyesight was blurry at first, but eventually cleared to see what had happened. His fish tank must have fallen over, collapsed right on his head. Water and blood covered the floor but he didn't care, he just...

He just cared about his fish.

Wow. Mulder didn't even know what to say about himself. If _fish_ were his only friends then he clearly needed to kill himself already. _God damn FUCK!_ he screamed in his mind, wanting to tear his hair out and slam his head through a brick wall and put a gun to his head and—

Mulder forgot those thoughts as he scrambled forward, his body feeling like it weighed tons as he stared at the fish he'd had for so long. Years. _Dead_.

Grief engulfed his heart. It showered him in darkness and made his eyelids fall and his body tense up. He curled up against the nearby chair and grabbed one—Guppy, his fucking favorite—and set it in his hand. And he got flashbacks of his horrible parents and screamed and kicked and punched the people that weren't in the room and cried and had those suicidal thoughts all over again.

 _Everyone I love dies._ _Everyone I love dies._ **Everyone I love dies. EVERYONE I LOVE DIES.**

The thoughts sent him spiraling into that peaceful humming again. Fuck he was insane, wasn't he? Mulder almost laughed but realized that would make him sound crazier. Damn, he was surprised he hadn't been locked up in a fucking mental asylum already. How had no one seen what he'd done to himself? The many times he'd attempted suicide? How he'd cut as a young adult? How he would flinch every time his father stepped close to him, or look away when his mother stared at him, or stare at the sky whenever he thought of Samantha and whether or not she was even still alive?

 _Numb_  
Numb  
Numb  
N u m b  
N  u  m  b  
n u    m       b

Or what about when he remembered all the times he'd been manipulated by the people he loved? Or when he'd pushed Scully away when she got with Colin? Fuck, how he was pushing _Rodrick_ away. Mulder was killing himself. Mentally, physically, emotionally. He didn't need a gun, nor did he need bullets. All he needed was the power of his mind. To bring everything crashing down, to get the karma he deserved, to fuck himself over as many times as he could because hurting other people was NOT OKAY and Mulder would NEVER forgive himself for that.

 _n u m  b_  
c a l m  
c   a  l           m  
n   u     m  b  
b u z z z z z zzz

The buzzing sound. There it was. It sent Mulder into a comforting and peaceful void, the man leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling. It wasn't even about the fish. This was just a message. A message to tell him that every person he loved would die, they would break him open from the inside out and tear him apart then die.  Leaving him with nothing but his thoughts, the thoughts that would always plague him and would coil around his heart and squeeze until he couldn't breathe.

the numbness  
was it returning?

_bzzzzz  
b z zzzz zz_

_b z zzz zz    zz  zz...._


End file.
